Through Their Eyes
by SandWitch42
Summary: Single chapter one-shots of MY INTERPRETATION of characters' inner reactions to ACTUAL SCENES in the show. Dialogue is canon and NOT my intellectual property; monologue is a mix of mine and inspiration I have found throughout the internet. Feel free to leave requests for scenes in comments.
1. S4E1: Dean

**S4E1: Lazarus Rising – Disclaimer – This is my take on Dean Winchester's point of view in the first meeting between he and Castiel the angel. I did not write the dialouge; it was taken directly from the official transcript.**

.oOo.

They had chosen a barn as their base of summoning. The farmhouse which stood nearest had been long-abandoned. There were no others for miles. No one would see or hear what Dean anticipated would be happening within the walls of the building. Across the room, Bobby used white spray paint to put the finishing touches to a swirling symbol on the cement floor.

"That's a hell of an art project you've got going there," he remarked over his shoulder as his surrogate father stood and capped the paint can.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," Bobby replied, walking to where Dean was neatly arranging weapons across a small table. He set the can down and regarded Dean. "How you doin'?"

How was he doing? It felt like not too long ago, demons had scared him, but he and Sam were to the point of making short work of most of them, making them no more of a bother than ghost possession. Now he was up against some big, bad he couldn't identify -except by the name Castiel- and he sure as hell had no idea what else this thing could be capable of. It had already proven it could drive him to his knees just by sheer force of a shriek that could squeeze his brain and shatter glass; it had also burned Pamela's eyes right out of her skull. It had to be demonic, and it obviously wasn't the usual, run-of-the-mill demon he and Sam had learned to gank. How as he doing? He was terrified. But he wasn't about to admit it to Bobby. Instead, he brushed the question aside and focused only on the contents of the table before him, gesturing brusquely at items as he identified them.

"Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. I mean, we're pretty much set up to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of." A niggling in the back of his head whispered that it wouldn't be enough; whatever they were about to summon _wasn't_ something he had heard of. He put his hands down on the table and hung his head under the weight of his thoughts.

"This is still a bad idea," Bobby drawled, shaking his head slowly.

"Yeah, Bobby," he snapped, rolling his eyes. "I heard you the first ten times." Dean's reply was louder than he had intended, but his fear had channeled into annoyance. He got ahold of it before continuing. Bobby was there to help, not to be yelled at. "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?" He raised his gaze from the table to Bobby's face with the question, using his eyes to urge the importance of this to his father figure.

Bobby's expression only mirrored the annoyance that had been in Dean's voice. He wasn't pleased with the way Dean had spoken to him, and he didn't hide the fact. Dean wondered if Bobby's insides were as knotted as his own as the older man nodded and moved from the weapons table to an adjacent table set for the summoning. The spread had already been laid out, and most of the spell had already been worked. It was waiting for one last step. Bobby lifted a small, wooden bowl and used his fingertips to grasp a pinch of the fine powder within. He sprinkled it over the other ingredients already assembled in a larger, silver bowl. In reaction, smoke began to curl and drift away from the contents. Dean wished he could see and read Bobby's face as he stared to chant, but it was hidden behind the bill of his dirty trucker's hat. All he could see was the beard surrounding Bobby's lips as he began to chant.

"Amate spiritus obscure..."

.oOo.

Dean had lost track of time. They could have been waiting for five minutes or five hours as far as he was concerned. The damn spell hadn't worked; that was the only explanation. He irritably twirled the tip of Ruby's knife, creating an ever-widening hole as it bore into the wood next to where he sat upon one of the tables, and he listened to Bobby whistle tunelessly where he sat, gently kicking his feet, opposite Dean on the other table.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" he finally asked. He was rewarded with a silent glare that all but shouted _Do I look like an idjit?_ Dean waved it away with his free hand and changed his grip on the knife with the other, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and bringing it up from the table. How he wanted to just plunge it into something. All this waiting was making him itch for a fight. Give him something face, let him go toe-to-toe with a monster. Anything but sitting around and waiting.

"Sorry," he said with a roll of his eyes. He set the knife on the table beside him. "Touchy, touchy, huh?" He fixed Bobby with a pointed look then brought his hand up to rub weariness from his eyes. Just how long _had_ they been sitting in that place?

A sudden rising of the wind outside enveloped the barn, causing the roof to shudder. Dean swiftly dropped the hand from his face and shot a look of expectancy upwards, letting his eyes dart across the ceiling. The wait was over; the summoning had finally produced the thing that had been tormenting him and hurting his friends. A buzz of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he snatched up a shotgun and slipped from the table and to his feet. Bobby settled next to him with his own shotgun gripped firmly in hand. They both watched the sheets of corrugated steel making up the roof flap like sheets of paper in the increasing torrent of wind, giving them glimpses of the night sky above.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean had to raise his voice a bit to be sure Bobby heard his quip over the loud bangs of the roof. He was proud of how calm his voice sounded, despite the tremor he felt within. The longer the metal flapped in the wind without anything else happening, the more his concern grew. He felt his eyes getting bigger as they darted wildly about the room. What was out there? What was about to come inside with them? He had already been to Hell; he wasn't prepared to go back, not after what had been done to him there. Not after what he had done...

What had he been thinking? Summoning an unknown like this, offering up himself and Bobby -Bobby! the man who was more of a father to them than their own dad- like pieces of chum with no hook to snag what might bite. His fear surged as the bulb directly above them exploded, showering them with sparks and tiny shards of thin glass. He and Bobby both ducked and hunched their shoulders, protecting the backs of their necks against it as more light bulbs burst one by one in the plain, metal hanging fixtures above.

The barn doors heaved inward, straining against and breaking straight through the heavy bar they had placed across them with a splintering crack. The doors swung open, allowing a tilting shadow to fall through the opening, preceding the creature that cast it: the creature that called itself Castiel.

Dean flinched against more sparks as they flared up between where he and Bobby stood and what was walking slowly through the doorway. Sparks trickled down and danced off of Castiel's shoulders where they were ignored. He strolled straight through the devil's trap painted on the floor as though it wasn't there. Dean took a firm hold of his shotgun and brought up the muzzle, still blinking away the after-images that flecked his vision from the brightness of the sparks. He refused to take in more detail other than what had joined them in the barn appeared to be human, but he knew demons easily possessed humans. This thing was going down, possession or no, and it was just too bad for the poor bastard it was riding. He pulled the trigger and absorbed the kickback into his shoulder as the gun blasted it's load into the approaching figure.

Holes blossomed in the clothing, directly in the heart, but no blood seeped out, and Castiel didn't even flinch. He just kept walking toward them. Directly behind Dean's first shot came Bobby's, and Dean was quick to squeeze off a second round just before Bobby did the same. Still, the monster approached, unfazed by the bullets riddling it's body.

Dean exchanged a startled glance with Bobby. With only a split second of eye contact, they silently agreed that the shotguns were doing jack squat, and they needed to change up weapons _now_. They each whirled to the tables closest to them and dropped their guns. Now that battle was upon him, Dean was able to cast aside his fears. His heart was pumping, blood rushing in his ears, but his hand was steady as he lifted Ruby's knife from where he had placed it and shifted to hide it behind his back as he turned to face his opponent as he drew up in front of him. This was what he lived for, and dammit, he was going to bring this thing down.

The sparks had subsided when they started shooting, and Dean's vision had finally cleared. He was able to get a good look at what had joined them in the barn. It was... just a guy. A guy in a tan tench coat and a suit with a loosened tie. He was only a little shorter than Dean himself -so probably an even six feet- with dark, unruly hair, hooded blue eyes, and a brow creased in thought as he regarded Dean. Outwardly, he seemed clean, untouched by the dark, horrible things out there that rip away innocence. But when those clear, blue eyes locked onto his own light green, there was something more behind them, something battle-harded and primal, something that hadn't been innocent in a very long time, if ever.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded gruffly.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." The wording of the gravel-voiced response was strange to Dean, but he defiantly pushed away any urge to examine it, choosing to focus on how to destroy the thing before him.

"Yeah," he glared at the shorter man and schooled his shoulders to loosen from the tenseness they carried as he mentally prepared his next move. "Thanks for that." His sarcasm seemed to be lost in translation because the small smile and nod he got in return smacked of a gracious _You're welcome_. The cocky son of a bitch. Dean lunged, whipping the knife from behind his back and slamming the blade all the way down to the hilt just above the holes he had made in it's heart.

His victim didn't flinch. Dean felt his eyes widen in shock at the lack of soul-flashing and death that typically accompanied a demon being stabbed with that particular knife. He stared as his fingers left the hilt, still protruding from the man's chest where he had plunged it. He backed away slowly, lifting his incredulous gaze to the face above the hilt. Castiel looked down at the hilt too then back up at Dean, a somewhat amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, almost a mockery of Dean's building horror. His eyes bored into Dean's as he lifted a hand, slid the blood-slicked blade from his body, and very pointedly let it drop with a clang on the cement floor. Dean darted his eyes to where Bobby stood, largely forgotten, behind the man. No, not man. The monster, the _thing_. He couldn't let himself forget the fact that no matter how ordinary-looking this guy was, he had just pulled a knife from his heart and smiled about it; he wasn't human. Bobby took the glance as his cue and put his whole upper body into swinging a crow bar at the back of Castiel's head.

As though he had been anticipating the attack, Castiel threw one hand into the trajectory of the crow bar, wrapping his fingers around it, and halting Bobby's momentum, all the while still staring at Dean. Then he turned fluidly to face the assault behind him, using his grip on the bar to guide Bobby away from the table laden with the rest of the weapons. Dean looked on helplessly while surprise painted Bobby's face as two fingers found their way under the bill of his cap and pressed lightly to his forehead.

Dean's heart stopped, and a sick feeling slammed into his gut as Bobby's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped slowly to the floor. _No._ The crow bar clattered noisily as it was dropped beside Bobby's limp form, sprawled out like a forgotten rag doll. As Castiel turned from Bobby and back to Dean, Dean readied himself to be attacked, but it didn't come. Instead, Dean watched as a blank intensity that had been directed at Bobby dissolved into earnest sincerity. It pulled him in, and that, in itself, made him uncomfortable.

"We need to talk, Dean," the deep voice said. He glanced down at Bobby, drawing a quick flick of eyes from Dean, but Dean didn't let his focus leave his adversary for even a heartbeat. Their eyes met again, and once more, Dean got the sense that there was something more to those eyes, and that if he could just... The thought wouldn't form, and try as he might to force it into place, it was as though he was grasping at smoke with his bare hand. "Alone."

.oOo.

Dean pressed his fingers to Bobby's neck, desperately seeking a pulse. Off to the side, that thrice-damned voice confirmed the steady beat that strummed against his fingertips.

"Your friend's alive."

Friend? Dean's blood boiled. _Friend?_ Try the one guy who had never given up on him. The steady, constant rock in his life who would bend over backwards to help him. The man who Dean secretly wished was _truly_ his father. To call him _friend_ was damn near an insult. He glared up to see a blithe figure absently flicking through the pages of the book in which Bobby had found the summoning spell.

"Who are you?" Dean asked again, allowing his anger to lace his words.

"Castiel," he replied without looking up. Something in the book had more of his attention than did Dean, and Dean didn't like being ignored in favor of some dusty tome.

"Yeah, I figured that much," Dean snapped back, still crouched protectively next to Bobby. "I mean _what_ are you?" His question garnered the attention he demanded, but when blue eyes slid from the open pages and fastened on Dean's face, he almost squirmed under the force of it.

"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel replied simply. His tone was so matter-of-fact, as though he hadn't just spilled out the biggest line of bullshit Dean had ever heard. But as Dean searched Castiel's eyes for the truth, all he got from them was a driving push, as though he was supposed to know something more than he already did. As the silence stretched between them, his conviction faltered, and uncertainty wormed through him. That uncertainty pissed him off, and he wrapped that feeling around him like a favorite flannel shirt. Slowly, he straightened, planting his feet firmly, as though putting himself into a fighting stance rather than being hunched like a toad on the floor would make accepting this information any easier.

"Get the hell out of here." He tried to put the heat of his anger into the words. "There's no such thing." He grudgingly admitted -if only to himself- that hushed awe tinged his statement. Mom had always told him that angels were watching over him. What if...? No. He wouldn't allow himself to follow that line of thought. It could only lead to weakness, and he couldn't afford that right now. He reached for the anger again, let it course through him, and pushed it into his steady glare.

Castiel smiled widely enough to allow a flash of teeth before reining it in to that same amused expression he had been wearing when Dean stabbed him. He moved from the book on the table and turned his body to fully face Dean. He lowered his chin slightly, lending more intensity to the piercing blue gaze. "This is your problem, Dean," he said, smile fading."You have no faith."

What the hell did that mean? Before Dean could puzzle through it, lightning flashed through his vision. He quickly looked around to find it's source. It seemed to come from everywhere, from nowhere, from... Another flash made Dean flinch, and then he realized... it came from Castiel. Brilliant white light filled the room, and Dean found he was unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. The shadows of enormous wings dominated the walls and ceiling of the barn behind Castiel. They lifted and stretched out, but before Dean could truly marvel at them, the light was gone, and so too were the shadows.

He dropped his eyes from the darkened, sigil-painted walls to Castiel. Holy shit. Just as quickly as the awe had washed over him, though, it was gone in a stab of anger. "Some angel you are," he sneered. "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel hung his head with a sigh and shook it unhappily. "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be...," he sighed again and lifted his eyes to Dean's. "...Overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice, but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel," Dean replied, remembering the ear drum shattering screech that had disabled him each time. "That was you talking?"

Castiel pursed his lips and nodded. He seemed apologetic.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

Castiel nodded again, glancing away for a moment in what Dean would almost call dismay before regaining eye contact. It suddenly occurred to Dean that somewhere in the conversation, Castiel had edged his way closer to him. It wasn't in Dean to give way to others; he stood his ground.

"It was my mistake," Castiel admitted. "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

Oh, so he was special enough to be pulled from Hell by an angel, but not special enough to see one's true form? Annoyance sparked in Dean, and it forcibly reminded him that the anger he had been clinging to had waned once more. He snatched it back, determined to not let this dick of an angel bring down his defenses again.

"And what ' _visage_ ' are you in now, huh?" he demanded, letting disdain fill his eyes as they raked the cheap suit and trench coat. "What? Holy tax accountant?"

Castiel looked down at himself. "This," he fondled the lapels of the coat, probably taking in all the holes Dean and Bobby had put into it with their shot guns. "This is... a vessel." He looked up at Dean with what might have been a touch of pride. The small smile was back, and this time it even reached his eyes. It made Dean uneasy.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" He didn't want to believe it; this was the stuff of demons. How could angels do this too? Weren't they supposed to be the good that counteracts the evil in the world?

"He's a devout man," Castiel countered confidently, but with a underlying press for Dean to accept the statement. "He actually prayed for this." Dean didn't want to accept it.

"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel's gentle half-smile faded, and his brow furrowed with a tilt of his head. Concern replaced the pride in his eyes as they squinted at him. "I told you," he said softly.

"Right," Dean scoffed. His anger twitched across his face. "And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel stepped even closer with his reply, close enough that he now had to tilt his chin up to keep his gaze on Dean's. Anger warred with curiosity, and oddly, with familiarity. Though Dean knew it was ridiculous, the closer he got, the more this angel stirred the back of his head, like remnants of a half-remembered dream. It irked him that the angel who had pulled him from Hell was right there in front of him, but he couldn't remember a damn thing about it.

"Not in my experience," he said through gritted teeth.

Castiel squinted at him. "What's the matter?" he asked. His eyes seemed to dig deeply into everything Dean was trying to hide. After a moment of searching, they widened slightly. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

The comment pierced Dean to his core, and he struggled to keep his emotions contained, to pretend Castiel's comment wasn't _exactly_ right. He huffed out a small breath before asking a question that had battered his waking moments since he first learned he had been rescued.

"Why'd you do it?"

Castiel's eyes burned into his.

"Because God commanded it." The statement shook Dean so thoroughly, he barely heard the rest. "Because we have work for you."


	2. S4E1: Castiel

**S4E1: Lazarus Rising [with a bit of S4E20: The Rapture] – Disclaimer – This is my take on Castiel's point of view in the first meeting between he and Dean Winchester. I did not write the dialogue; it was taken directly from the official transcripts.**

"...Promise me my family will be okay, and I'll do it." Jimmy Novak's head tilted skyward, bathed in a pure, golden light. He had stepped outside of his house to speak with Castiel alone, away from his family. For that, Castiel had granted Jimmy a peek at his true visage, and it spread across the servant of God as a blanket of light.

Castiel could not very well make the promise Jimmy requested of him. The war between Heaven and Hell would most certainly beget casualties of those who were not even aware such a war was taking place. It was not a pressing concern of theirs to protect those people; Heaven would not spare any angels to watch over Amelia and Claire. But Castiel needed this lamb who could contain his grace without deteriorating. So he lied. He whispered the promises Jimmy needed to hear in order to succumb to Castiel's own need.

"Then... yes," Jimmy accepted. Yes. That was the word Castiel needed. His true form burst forward from the heavens, and Jimmy opened his arms in welcome, staring up at him in awe as he funneled down into the waiting vessel, filling him with his grace and power.

Once inside, Castiel tucked Jimmy's consciousness firmly away in a fold of the man's mind. He had no more use for Jimmy aside from the shell he now examined from the inside out. Castiel stretched within the confines of the vessel and looked out through human eyes for the first time in over one hundred years. Staring up into Castiel's brilliance had brought water to Jimmy's eyes, and Castiel had to focus through it as he lifted Jimmy's right hand to flex it and remind himself how it felt to wear a vessel.

The sound of a door behind him alerted Castiel to another's presence. He slowly lowered his hand and waited.

"Daddy?" came a small, inquiring voice.

He turned to the owner of the voice, a small, blonde girl in a zippered blue coat. It was Jimmy Novak's daughter, Claire. But Jimmy was secreted away in a dark, tiny corner, unaware that his daughter had sought him out. Castiel regarded her with a tilt of his head and stared. He remembered the hollow promise he had given Jimmy in order to gain the acceptance into his vessel. Jimmy was a man of God and had given himself over to the Will of Heaven, yet it had been with a condition. And now, that condition stood above him, up the neat steps of this well-kept home. More than anything, Jimmy wanted the safety of his daughter and that of his wife.

Castiel turned his back on Claire. They were not his priority. There was a war to be fought, and now that he had his vessel, Castiel was able to communicate with the Righteous Man, the breaker of the first Seal. It was time.

"I am not your father," he intoned and walked away from the little girl.

.oOo.

Castiel felt the pull of the spell moments before it ripped him across time and space to stand before a dilapidated barn. The sun had long since set, and darkness settled across his surroundings. Inside the barn, he felt the presence of the man he had saved: Dean Winchester. And he wasn't alone. Castiel could also feel the wardings scrawled across every flat surface in the building. The corner of his mouth twitched with a touch of amusement. None of the wardings would affect him in the slightest. In the near future, he would have to educate the hunter.

Castiel steadied himself and called upon his angelic powers to bring forth a whipping tempest to announce his arrival. Heaven required Dean's subservience, and after what Castiel had seen what Dean was capable of in Hell, he thought it best to step forward with a show of force. It seemed to be working. Just the wind had spiked the anxiety level beyond the closed doors of the barn. Castiel closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. Inside the building, a light bulb burst. Then another. Another. Now, they were ready.

Using the flat of his hand to direct it, he pushed his power against the double barn doors to swing them open. He was met with some small resistance which shortly buckled with a crackling snap. From where he stood, Castiel could see every part of the barn as the sparks from the popping light bulbs made tiny fireworks. It was brighter inside than out, and though both men inside squinted through the sparks, they could not see Castiel until he moved forward.

Each step into the building and through the sparks flying about took him closer to Dean, and Castiel couldn't take his eyes away from him. The man who broke the first Seal looked remarkably better than the last time Castiel had seen him. A bleak image of the first time he had seen Dean flashed behind his eyes, and he felt his face harden with the memory.

Unsurprisingly, Dean lifted the shotgun he was holding and pointed it at Castiel's chest. It went off, and Castiel felt the bullets nestle into his vessel's flesh. It pressure made him blink. As he strolled forward, three more rounds were pumped into him before the men looked at each other in shock. Castiel stepped between them and put his back to the other man; he had eyes only for Dean as Dean turned toward the weapons on the table to drop his shotgun then whirled back to face him. Close enough to touch, close enough to save.

Castiel's garrison had ripped through level after level of the Pit in search of Dean, leaving bodies of demons and angels alike in their wake. Finally, it had been Castiel alone who reached Dean's side, battle-broken and exhausted. He felt as though he might not have had enough strength left within him to even pull Dean from Hell at all. Then Dean had laid torture-crazed eyes upon him. Castiel had interrupted a session in which Dean seemed to have been taking quite a delight, and he did not welcome said interruption. Castiel had been forced to clash with the very man he had been sent to save. And while Dean went for blood, Castiel could only defend and subdue. Dean had not gone down easily, but once Castiel had tamed him, Dean clung to the angel's grip in sobbing desperation as Castiel gruelingly raised them both from the blood-soaked depths of Hell.

"Who are you?" Dean barked. There was no recognition in the hardness of his eyes.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"Yeah," Dean shifted. There was something behind his back. "Thanks for that." Castiel allowed himself to smile and nod at the thanks Dean had been too frightened to give during his rescue. However, this thanks was punctuated with a sudden slam of a knife blade into the chest of his vessel. Castiel watched Dean's green eyes widen in disbelief when Castiel did not react to what would have been a killing blow to a human or, judging by the feel of the sigils scrawled on the blade, to a demon. Dean backed away, and when Castiel looked down at the knife hilt poking out of his chest, he couldn't help but be amused. A magical knife? This is what Dean chose to use against him? He turned his small smile to Dean who looked back with building fear. That was to the good; Dean needed to know angels were worth fearing. He pulled the knife from his chest and, keeping it level with the stab wound, dropped it to the floor in what he expected would be perceived as frank indifference to such an ineffective weapon.

Dean glanced beyond Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel used the tell to reach up and catch the crow bar that was swinging at the back of his head. He turned to the bearded man in the cap on the other end of the crow bar and used a few extra steps -pulling on the bar to lead the man- to a clear spot to lay the man down safely. With two fingers to the man's forehead, Castiel pulsed angelic power through his body to knock him out and guide him gently to the floor. This man was not only no enemy of his, but he was an ally to Dean Winchester. There was no need to harm him. Castiel dropped the crow bar unceremoniously next to him; he had no need for such a barbaric weapon.

When he turned back to Dean, he could see a storm of emotions in the man's eyes. Fear, anger, concern, and under it all, curiosity. Dean was ready for battle, but Castiel had had his fill of fighting Dean from their first meeting. If only Dean could recall how brutal it had been.

"We need to talk, Dean," he said. He looked down at the other man lying on the floor as though reassuring himself he still slept before fixing his eyes on Dean. Though his chest continued to heave under quick breaths, and his eyes were still wide, the hunter's adrenaline was fading now that the fighting seemed to be at an end. Castiel didn't want to fight. There had been enough of that in Hell before Dean had slumped to the ground in defeat. He willed Dean to remember. "Alone."

.oOo.

Castiel awarded Dean a moment to check on the man sprawled on the floor. While Dean busied his time with that, Castiel flipped idly through a small spell book nestled among the weapons on one of the tables. It was all very rudimentary, some of it completely incorrect, but it gave him something to focus on while Dean performed his act of checking on his friend. Feeling an itch that they were running out of time, Castiel felt compelled to speak.

"Your friend's alive."

He heard Dean shift before his answer. "Who are you?"

This again? "Castiel," he answered with no little boredom and annoyance. He flipped another page in the book, eyes picking out more mistakes. It was a wonder the angel summoning had even worked.

"Yeah, I figured that much." Each word Dean spoke had a biting anger. "I mean _what_ are you?"

Castiel paused and slowly turned his head to look at Dean. Was it possible? Could he really have blocked out so much that he didn't even know _what_ Castiel was? The look in Dean's eyes confirmed his ignorance. "I'm an angel of the Lord," he stated.

Incredulity flashed through Dean's eyes for only a moment, and Castiel watched as Dean armored himself in anger instead. He slowly stood from kneeling next to his friend and squared himself before Castiel. He seemed ready to fight again, and the sight brought a sadeness upon the angel.

"Get the hell out of here," Dean argued in a strained voice. "There's no such thing."

After what Castiel and the other angels had gone through to get this man out of Hell, his flat denial of their existence was downright comical. Castiel felt a smile come on, but he controlled it before he laughed in Dean's face. He knew the hunter would not take kindly to it. Instead, he mirrored Dean's stance and lowered his chin to stare him down.

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." With that, Castiel released his grace with a thunderous flash. Dean flinched from the light and then cast his eyes about to find it's source before coming to the correct conclusion that it was the angel himself. Castiel watched as Dean's eyes widened in wonder at the silhouette of his wings. A kernel inside of him wished his wings weren't so damaged, that Dean could gaze upon them in their full glory. Alas, they had suffered in his trip to Hell to collect the hunter and hadn't yet finished molting from the strain of it. _Look, then, Dean. Look at what I went through for you._ As soon as the thought formed, Castiel realized how petty it was and dropped the light, hiding his wings once more.

Dean quickly recovered from being awestruck and returned to the anger he knew so well. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

'That poor woman' was nowhere near special enough to behold sight of an angel in their true visage. She was actually quite fortunate that her eyes were the only thing she had lost. Though it hadn't been his fault that she had been hurt, the accusation stung coming from Dean, and Castiel drooped under the weight of it. He looked down at the floor with a sigh and shook his head before stepping forward with his explanation. "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be..." he looked up from the floor; serious conversation deserved eye contact. "...Overwhelming to humans. So can my true voice, but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?" Dean's brow folded down in consideration with his questions. Castiel meekly nodded in answer. It pained him that Dean had not been able to hear his words after they had ascended from Hell. He had been able to hear Castiel's calming reassurances in the journey they made out of Hell. Dean had been so broken inside; Castiel was uncertain how much worse it would have been if he hadn't been able to communicate with his charge. "Buddy, next time lower the volume."

"It was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." It confused him that it was so. He and the other angels had been sent to Hell to bring the Righteous Man out because he was special; it seemed a reasonable assumption that he would have been able to still look upon and hear angels once he was returned to Earth.

"And what ' _visage_ ' are you in now, huh?" Dean seemed less pleased with the thought of his inability to see angels than Castiel was. "What? Holy tax accountant?"

Castiel allowed himself a glance down at the clothes Jimmy had been wearing when he accepted Castiel into him. "This," he slid his hands over the hole-filled lapels of the coat. "This is... a vessel." He looked up at Dean with a bit of a smile. Dean had no idea just how pleased Castiel felt at his good fortune of having gotten a yes from the one vessel that could contain him properly.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" Well, when he put it like that...

"He's a devout man," Castiel replied proudly, refusing to allow Dean's biting words shake his confidence. "He actually prayed for this."

"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Dean's question crushed Castiel, and his worry for Dean came out in a quiet reply. "I told you."

"Right. And why would an angel... rescue me from Hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean." Sadness washed over him as he stepped closer and gazed up at the hunter. He pressed his will through his gaze and into Dean. _Remember, Dean. Please remember._ Their meeting and the rescue had created a profound bond between the two of them. Castiel still felt it, would always feel it. They were linked, and Dean couldn't remember.

"Not in my experience," was the tight reply.

"What's the matter?" he asked, leaning slightly nearer, suddenly aware there was more to this than Dean's missing memories. He rifled through Dean's emotions to get a better understanding of the situation. There it was, and it was a horrible feeling Dean was carrying. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean huffed at him, trying to dismiss the comment instead of addressing it. "Why'd you do it?" he asked.

That was the question Castiel had been waiting for. If Dean was asking, he was ready to hear the answer. Castiel felt the tip of his tongue touch his lip before responding. "Because God commanded it," he paused to allow Dean to process the information. "Because we have work for you."


End file.
